Communication
by BatmansBabe
Summary: There are some people you always come back to. No matter how hard you try to stay away. Claire/Bender
1. Chapter 1

ETA: Thanks to SignedOG, who pointed out that there is no 4th Ave uptown. Although I'm not quite sure there'd be a "little coffee shop" on Madison Avenue, so sorry if I'm still screwing everything up.

AN: Holy crap I did a bunch of research on this. It's unfinished right now, but I'm hoping against hope that I'll finish it sometime in the next few days and then post it periodically. I'm really tired of having unfinished WIP's laying around.

Disclaimer: John Hughes _owns_ this. Oh. And he owns everything you recognize as Breakfast Club.

Chapter One

_Shermer, Illinois, 1984_

Claire bit her lip, shuffling uncomfortably in her desk chair, eyes once again taking in the phone number written on the top sheet of her stationary, right on top of the letterhead. Seven digits that would change her life as she knew it.

Claire frowned at the numbers, wearing a hole in her lip even as she contemplated what she was planning to do. Last night at Stumpy's had been a disaster of epic proportions (or so she was told) – Andy had brought Allison. Andy had brought basketcase Allison to a party full of jocks and populars, and it had been a disaster. Half the girls at the Shermer were now refusing to even acknowledge Andy's existence (beyond the piles and piles of gossip being spread like wildfire) even though Friday afternoon had had most of them mooning over him.

And what Claire was planning to do would pretty much solidify the entirety of Saturday's delinquents as outcasts.

Claire felt a rush like she'd never felt before, and gritted her teeth for a moment before picking up the receiver and dialing out the number.

It rang three times before anyone answered, and then it was a young voice that answered. "'Lo?"

In the background, Claire heard a woman yelling "Henry, I told you not to answer the phone! Who is it?"

"Who is it?"

"I…it's Claire Standish."

"She says her name is Claire!"

The answer was garbled, but Claire caught "…she want?"

"What do you want?"

Claire dug her teeth into her bottom lip again. She could still back out. Still be Prom Queen, still go shopping next Friday with Annabelle and Rose.

"Hello?"

Maybe 'Henry' would get impatient and just hang up on her. But she'd be mortified if he mentioned that Claire had called. She was conceited, and she was a bitch, but she didn't want to be those things.

"Yes, can I speak to Allison?"

_New York City, 1992_

Claire tugged at the collar of her shirt, bemoaning summers in New York for perhaps the twentieth time that day as she made her way up 5th Avenue, dodging two disgruntled looking models stomping past in a flurry of cheap runway knockoffs that were the next issue of Vogue's fashion flubs. At least, if her article got to print, they would be.

She swung down the street at a dizzying pace, and made to turn onto East 44th. Only instead of finding an empty walkway she walked straight into someone turning onto 5th.

Papers and manila folders went flying everywhere, and as Claire stumbled backward, attempting to keep her footing on the Blahniks she was trying out in preparation for next months fall fashion issue, while the man she'd bumped into bent and began furiously reaching for the papers that, thankfully, had merely floated to the sidewalk.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she said, bending to help the man.

"No, no, it's okay, they're just really important financial figures for the upcoming quarter, really, it's no big deal."

Claire paused as the voice registered in her brain, and she glanced up at the man kneeling beside her. He had broad shoulders tapered to a narrow waist, and a shock of blonde hair slicked back in the style Claire had seen many a Wall Street employee wear. He glanced up at Claire after a moment too long of her studying him, and she smiled at the blue eyes locked onto her own.

"Claire Standish?"

Her smile widened. "Hey, Brian."

"Oh, man, you – you look great! I mean, of course you do, you've always looked great, but… Hey, how are you?"

"I'm pretty good. How are you? What are you doing here?"

"Yeah, I'm excellent. I'm here on business. Accounting stuff, financial…things. It's really boring."

"You're an accountant?"

"More of a business partner, really. I mean, it was a joint venture, and I guess John sort of owns a larger portion than I do, but we make the same amount of money, so…"

Her heart skipped a beat. It couldn't – "John?"

"Hmm? Oh – yeah, Bender. I mean, small world right? Who knew?"

Claire handed Brian back a final piece of paper, and they both stood. "John Bender? You…opened a company with John Bender?"

"Yeah, yeah, a few years back." He paused, and scratched the back of his head, and Claire saw again the sixteen-year-old who'd wanted to kill himself with a flare gun. His face had filled out, but he was still there in Brian's mannerisms and his speech. "We make lamps."

Claire tried not to smile too wide at that.

"Listen, do you want to go for coffee? I know this place just up the street…if you're not busy?"

Brian's eyes lit. "No, no, I'm not busy. Coffee – well, I don't actually drink coffee, because it does something funny to my system and I get a nervous tic, but – yeah, that sounds great. Talking. Not the nervous tic."

Claire grinned back at him, nodding her head in the direction of Madison Avenue.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

_Shermer, Illinois, 1984_

"_What the hell is your problem, Claire?"_

_She stared up at John, and through her tears managed to make out the anger on his face. _

"_Just make a fucking decision. It's not that hard."_

"_It is that hard! God, don't you get it?"_

"_Apparently_ not_," he gritted out, and Claire turned her gaze away from him._

"_Well what do you want me to say? That I don't want to leave? That I'm going to throw away this internship to stay here?"_

"_I want you to give me some fucking idea what this is gonna be, come September!"_

"_I don't know, okay?"_

"_Jesus fucking Christ, Claire! I'm not gonna have a fucking conniption when you tell me you're leaving, alright? I just want to know where I stand."_

"_Fine! Alright! I want to go to New York. I want to take this job. And that means I'm gone. It means except for a few days at Thanksgiving and Christmas you won't see me. It means you can _consider_ me out of your life!"_

_John's eyes blazed for a moment with something she didn't quite understand, and she watched as he gritted his teeth and kicked at the gravel under his feet._

_Claire let her eyes drop closed. She'd been hoping to avoid this as long as possible – the last few months had been some of the best in her life, and even if she was one of the many, being with John Bender had opened her eyes to a whole other world away from the one she'd always known. And there was no doubt in her mind that she'd just ruined any hope of being one of those girls he considered something more than…company. _

_It was because of him that she'd even thought to look at internships, because of him that she'd taken the leap and applied for one all the way in New York – he'd taken the train with her to the interview, three weeks ago, because she'd been terrified of traveling to New York City all alone._

"_So that's it, then."_

"_That's my decision, yes."_

_His sharp gaze turned on her and held her in place. She held her breath, trying to decipher what the look meant. "That's your decision."_

_No. God no. She didn't want to leave things like this. She wanted him to visit her in New York. She wanted to be able to call him and complain about how awful her boss was. She wanted to continue to argue with him over things that neither of them actually gave a damn about. But she wanted him to want that, too. "Yeah."_

_He nodded, his fists jammed deep into the pockets of his jeans, his face turned away from her, so that she only saw him in profile. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. "Yeah."_

_Claire blinked back more tears. Her chest felt tight and achy, and her head was starting to throb just at the base of her skull. She felt like she wasn't taking in enough air._

"_John, I…"_

_She broke off and trailed into a silence that lasted for the span of about five minutes. _

_She jumped when he suddenly moved toward her, and had to force herself not to flinch away when he reached a hand toward her. If she'd learned anything about John, it was that he'd never so much as think of hitting a woman. _

_Instead his hand dug into the hair at the back of her head, tugging her forward, and his head descended toward hers. Before she could turn her own head up, though, he pressed a kiss into her forehead and dropped his hold, backing away from her. "Bye, Princess," he said, and before she could respond at all he'd turned and jogged away._

_Claire stayed on the bench until the light at the edge of Gladiola Park blinked on, and then set out for her home with an ache in her heart. _


	3. Chapter 3

AN: If anyone from NYC is reading this and would like to yell at me for screwing things up, please feel free. I google mapped it and took a tour of the street and everything, but still. I was bound to screw up somewhere. Also – I may have turned Brian and Bender into Harry and Perry. Inadvertently. Without meaning to. Sorry.

ETA: Thanks to SignedOG, who pointed out that there is no 4th uptown and who also pointed out that 76 East 22nd would actually be on the south side of the street.

Disclaimer: This is still not mine. What??

_Chapter Three_

_New York City, 1992_

Brian slipped his key into the lock and turned, only to be greeted by a loud blast of Nirvana coming from the living room of the modest loft he shared with Bender. He tossed his keys onto the side table and hung his coat next to John's, then made his way into the kitchen, where John was stirring some sort of sauce in a pot while something beside it simmered in a covered pan.

"You'll never guess who I ran into today," Brian said, leaning over the edge of the stove to get a look at whatever John was cooking. Bender pressed a hand into Brian's face, pushing him out of the way.

"Claire Standish," his roommate responded without hesitation, a hint of tension in his voice. "Stay away from the stove, fuckhead."

"How did you - ?"

John pointed to the message machine on the table in the living room. "I didn't answer the phone."

"You never answer the phone."

Brian took a moment to note that the light that usually indicated a new message wasn't blinking, so either the machine was broken, or Bender had replayed the message. Brian was betting on the latter.

"What did she say?"

John raised an eyebrow at him and went back to stirring the sauce.

He was in a bad mood. He never cooked anything unless he was in a bad mood. Brian kept that in mind as he slid around the bar into the living room, and pressed the button to listen to Claire's message, leaning heavily against the mahogany table that matched absolutely no other piece of furniture in the loft. It had been a housewarming present from Brian's mother.

"Hey…it's Claire. Standish. Which, yeah, you probably knew. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I had a really good time today. It was nice to catch up. I…I wish we'd all kept in touch, these past few years." There was a long pause, in which Brian knew she was thinking about "all" of them. Bender, Andy, Allison. "I know you're probably way too busy to spare me some time, but there's this gala tomorrow night for my friend Angie, and since you're…sort of new to town, I thought you might like to come. If you want." Another pause. Brian glanced up to see Bender furiously stirring whatever was sizzling in the pan, his face stormy. "Just give me a call if you'd like to come. You've got my number." There was a spout of breath being blown into the phone. "It was really great seeing you. Talk to you soon."

Brian dug into his pocket for the napkin Claire had grabbed to write down her phone number, and, grabbing the phone next to the machine, sunk into his couch to call her back.

It rang four times and was halfway to the fifth when Claire answered it, sounding out of breath. "Hello?"

"Hey, Claire, it's Brian."

"Brian! Hi!"

"So, I got your message."

"You did? Oh good. Yeah. So, anyway, this gala thing is just an art opening, you really don't have to – ."

"I'd love to come."

"You would?"

Brian kicked at a bit of rug that had turned up for about the fiftieth time in the past week as he swung around the table with the phone to his ear, swiping at the cord when it caught on the edge of the couch. The couch bounced as he dropped down onto it.

"Definitely. Like you said, I'm new here. And your friends are probably exactly the type of clientele we're looking for."

From the kitchen he heard Bender slam a cabinet door and drop a cover heavily back onto one of the pans. The clanging noise echoed through the vast open space of the loft.

"Yeah, I bet."

"I don't like the condescending tone of your voice." He leaned his head back against the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The half painted ceiling that John had said he'd have finished by three in the afternoon today.

"Sorry." He heard papers shifting on her end. "Anyway, it's just off of Broadway and 22nd, do you have a pen?" He reached around the side of the couch to rifle for the pen he kept by the voice mail.

"Got it."

"It's 76 East 22nd, and it'll be on south side."

"76 East 22nd, south side, okay. Yeah, I'll be there."

"It starts at eight. But no one's really going to be there until nine. Feel free to bring someone, if you'd like." From the way she said it, she seemed to be implying he bring a girl. Like he knew so many girls in New York.

"Yeah, maybe." His nervous tic decided at that moment to become evident, as he stuck the end of the pen into his mouth and clicked it against his teeth. He paused to roll his eyes at himself. "So, what exactly is the dress code for 76 East 22nd, on the south side?"

"Oh! Just, casual." She paused. "But not Illinois casual. New York casual."

"What's the difference?"

"New York is more pleated slacks and blazers than ripped Levi's and flannel."

Brian smiled, trying to hold back the comment that sprung to mind – how _Claire _she sounded when she started talking about fashion. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Good. I wouldn't want acid wash to be the only thing hindering you from becoming the most sought after lamp maker in Manhattan." Brian grinned again. "Listen, I have a dinner I'm supposed to be getting ready for, so I'm going to let you go. But I'll see you tomorrow."

"At nine on the dot."

"Have a nice night, Brian."

"Yeah, you too."

He hung up the phone and sat up on the couch, giving his roommate a wide, unassuming smile. John glared at him and shot a wooden spoon at him.

Catching it, Brian stood and headed back toward the kitchen, opening cabinets and grabbing dinner dishes. "We're going to an art gallery tomorrow night."


End file.
